of sparrows and crows

you suffered from a loneliness that was insatiable.

you suffered from a loneliness that is insatiable. it nibbled and gnawed at your flesh and placed soft hickies on your brain, it was the song in the back of your head that you could not stop humming. it was the most permanent influence on your life, it was a roommate who wouldn’t pay rent; it was the train whistle that woke you up even when your window was shut tight.

loneliness was your faceless lover, the puppeteer to your mannequin, it was a shadow that showed itself even at noon. you pushed others away like the moon does the tides; but once you do, they are never pulled back. 

after all, the red string of fate can be severed by scissors, even ones of the “safety” variety. but, then again, the closest you’ve ever been to having the red ribbon tied around your pinky was a papercut that took too long to heal. 

you fell in love with strangers, with silent bus-riders and coworkers, because you could create them to be everything you needed: understanding, soft; they could be good at cooking your favorite meals and they could comprehend your wicked mind because they were fabrications of it. you put words in people’s mouths because you were too afraid of hearing the truth. 

but one day, you fell in love with someone who spoke so much you could not put words into his mouth, there was hardly a spare moment for your thoughts to insert unrealistic ideals onto him. 

he was the opposite of anything you had ever wanted. 

he never cooked, he didn’t understand your inability to focus, to function, to be social for more than two hours. he was rather gruff and blunt, he was an enigma; he was unpredictable, rain during harsh sunlight. 

but for all the talking he did, you knew nothing about his personal life aside from the fact that you did not belong. 

if he was a sparrow, you were a crow. 

but instead of forcing you to focus, to function, to be social for more than two hours, he accepted your words at face value. he believed you when you said “i can’t do it”. he did not understand your head but he understood you, something that should not occur without the other facet. 

a pure anomaly, he became the apple of your eye. 

a pure anomaly, he placed a bandage over the paper cut on your pinky finger. 

he ignored fate in favor of you; he tied your severed, limp yarn to his own. it was patched and messy and fraying, but it was stronger than any push or pull the moon could give the tides. 

he replaced the hickies on your brain with ones on your neck and the songs he sang in the car got stuck in your head. he paid rent and bought you earbuds to drown out the trains. 

you told him you loved him so many times it slipped out even when you were asleep. your tongue had been too pent up from weeks, months, years of soliloquies in the shower but never to a face.

if he was a sparrow, you were a crow. 

but you would not have it any other way.

Author's Note

thanks for reading!